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diff --git a/24721-h/24721-h.htm b/24721-h/24721-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4e34b37 --- /dev/null +++ b/24721-h/24721-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1869 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Operation Haystack by Frank Herbert</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + +p {text-align: justify} + +h1 {text-align: center} + +hr {height: 5px; + width: 65%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + +.tr {margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 5%; + margin-bottom: 5%; + padding: 2em; + background-color: #f6f2f2; + color: black; + border: solid black 1px; + } + +body {margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10% + } + +.pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } +.indent {margin-left: 5em} + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 24721 ***</div> + +<div class="tr"><p style="text-align: center">Transcriber's Note:</p> + +<p>This eBook was produced from <i>Astounding Science Fiction</i> May 1959, pp. +92-111. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. +copyright on this publication was renewed.</p></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="p092">p. 92</a></span></p> + +<p style="text-align: center"><a href="images/92.png"><img src="images/92_thumb.png" alt="An illustration" title="An illustration" width="600" height="600"></a></p> + +<h1>OPERATION<br> +HAYSTACK</h1> + +<br> + +<h2>BY FRANK HERBERT</h2> + +<p style="text-align: right"><small><b>Illustrated by van Dongen</b></small></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="p093">p. 93</a></span></p> + +<div class="indent"> +<p><b><i><big><big>It's hard</big></big> to ferret out a gang of fanatics; +it would, obviously, be even harder to spot +a genetic line of dedicated men. But the problem +Orne had was one step tougher than that!</i></b></p> +</div> + +<br> + +<p><img src="images/w.png" alt="Ornamental letter 'W'" title="Ornamental letter 'W'" align="left" width="75" height="75">hen the Investigation +& Adjustment scout +cruiser landed on Marak +it carried a man +the doctors had no +hope of saving. He was alive only +because he was in a womblike creche +pod that had taken over most of his +vital functions.</p> + +<p>The man's name was Lewis Orne. +He had been a blocky, heavy-muscled +redhead with slightly off-center features +and the hard flesh of a heavy +planet native. Even in the placid repose +of near death there was something +clownish about his appearance. +His burned, ungent-covered face +looked made up for some bizarre +show.</p> + +<p>Marak is the League capital, and +the I-A medical center there is probably +the best in the galaxy, but it accepted +the creche pod and Orne more +as a curiosity than anything else. The +man had lost one eye, three fingers +of his left hand and part of his hair, +suffered a broken jaw and various internal +injuries. He had been in terminal +shock for more than ninety hours.</p> + +<p>Umbo Stetson, Orne's section +chief, went back into his cruiser's +"office" after a hospital flitter took +pod and patient. There was an added +droop to Stetson's shoulders that accentuated +his usual slouching stance. +His overlarge features were drawn +into ridges of sorrow. A general +straggling, trampish look about him +was not helped by patched blue fatigues.</p> + +<p>The doctor's words still rang in +Stetson's ears: "This patient's vital +tone is too low to permit operative +replacement of damaged organs. +He'll live for a while because of the +pod, but—" And the doctor had +shrugged.</p> + +<p>Stetson slumped into his desk +chair, looked out the open port beside +him. Some four hundred meters +below, the scurrying beetlelike activity +of the I-A's main field sent up +discordant roaring and clattering. +Two rows of other scout cruisers +were parked in line with Stetson's +port—gleaming red and black needles. +He stared at them without really +seeing them.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="p094">p. 94</a></span></p> + +<p><i>It always happens on some "routine" +assignment</i>, he thought. <i>Nothing +but a slight suspicion about +Heleb: the fact that only women held +high office. One simple, unexplained +fact ... and I lose my best agent!</i></p> + +<p>He sighed, turned to his desk, began +composing the report:</p> + +<p>"The militant core on the Planet +Heleb has been eliminated. Occupation +force on the ground. No further +danger to Galactic peace expected +from this source. Reason for operation: +Rediscovery & Re-education—<i>after +two years on the planet</i>—failed +to detect signs of militancy. The major +indications were: 1) a ruling +caste restricted to women, and 2) +disparity between numbers of males +and females <i>far</i> beyond the Lutig +norm! Senior Field Agent Lewis +Orne found that the ruling caste was +controlling the sex of offspring at +conception (see attached details), +and had raised a male slave army to +maintain its rule. The R&R agent +had been drained of information, +then killed. Arms constructed on the +basis of that information caused critical +injuries to Senior Field Agent +Orne. He is not expected to live. I +am hereby urging that he receive the +Galaxy Medal, and that his name be +added to the Roll of Honor."</p> + +<p>Stetson pushed the page aside. +That was enough for ComGO, who +never read anything but the first page +anyway. Details were for his aides +to chew and digest. They could wait. +Stetson punched his desk callbox for +Orne's service record, set himself to +the task he most detested: notifying +next of kin. He read, pursing his +lips:</p> + +<p>"Home Planet: Chargon. Notify +in case of accident or death: Mrs. +Victoria Orne, mother."</p> + +<p>He leafed through the pages, reluctant +to send the hated message. +Orne had enlisted in the Marak Marines +at age seventeen—a runaway +from home—and his mother had +given post-enlistment consent. Two +years later: scholarship transfer to +Uni-Galacta, the R&R school here on +Marak. Five years of school and one +R&R field assignment under his belt, +and he had been drafted into the I-A +for brilliant detection of militancy on +Hammel. And two years later—<i>kaput</i>!</p> + +<p>Abruptly, Stetson hurled the service +record at the gray metal wall +across from him; then he got up, +brought the record back to his desk, +smoothing the pages. There were +tears in his eyes. He flipped a switch +on his desk, dictated the notification +to Central Secretarial, ordered it sent +out priority. Then he went groundside +and got drunk on Hochar +Brandy, Orne's favorite drink.</p> + +<hr> + +<p>The next morning there was a reply +from Chargon: "Lewis Orne's +mother too ill to travel. Sisters being +notified. Please ask Mrs. Ipscott Bullone +of Marak, wife of the High +Commissioner, to take over for family." +It was signed: "Madrena Orne +Standish, sister."</p> + +<p>With some misgivings, Stetson +called the residence of Ipscott Bullone, +leader of the majority party in +<span class="pagenum"><a id="p095">p. 95</a></span> +the Marak Assembly. Mrs. Bullone +took the call with blank screen. +There was a sound of running water +in the background. Stetson stared at +the grayness swimming in his desk +visor. He always disliked a blank +screen. A baritone husk of a voice +slid: "This is Polly Bullone."</p> + +<p>Stetson introduced himself, relayed +the Chargon message.</p> + +<p>"Victoria's boy dying? Here? Oh, +the poor thing! And Madrena's back +on Chargon ... the election. Oh, yes, +of course. I'll get right over to the +hospital!"</p> + +<p>Stetson signed off, broke the contact.</p> + +<p><i>The High Commissioner's wife +yet!</i> he thought. Then, because he +had to do it, he walled off his sorrow, +got to work.</p> + +<p>At the medical center, the oval +creche containing Orne hung from +ceiling hooks in a private room. +There were humming sounds in the +dim, watery greenness of the room, +rhythmic chuggings, sighings. Occasionally, +a door opened almost +soundlessly, and a white-clad figure +would check the graph tapes on the +creche's meters.</p> + +<p>Orne was lingering. He became +the major conversation piece at the +internes' coffee breaks: "That agent +who was hurt on Heleb, he's still +with us. Man, they must build those +guys different from the rest of us!... +Yeah! Understand he's got only +about an eighth of his insides ... +liver, kidneys, stomach—all gone.... +Lay you odds he doesn't last out the +month.... Look what old sure-thing +McTavish wants to bet on!"</p> + +<p>On the morning of his eighty-eighth +day in the creche, the day +nurse came into Orne's room, lifted +the inspection hood, looked down at +him. The day nurse was a tall, lean-faced +professional who had learned +to meet miracles and failures with +equal lack of expression. However, +this routine with the dying I-A operative +had lulled her into a state of +psychological unpreparedness. <i>Any +day now, poor guy</i>, she thought. And +she gasped as he opened his sole +remaining eye, said:</p> + +<p>"Did they clobber those dames on +Heleb?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir!" she blurted. "They +really did, sir!"</p> + +<p>"Good!"</p> + +<p>Orne closed his eye. His breathing +deepened.</p> + +<p>The nurse rang frantically for the +doctors.</p> + +<p>It had been an indeterminate period +in a blank fog for Orne, then +a time of pain and the gradual realization +that he was in a creche. Had +to be. He could remember his sudden +exposure on Heleb, the explosion—then +nothing. Good old creche. +It made him feel safe now, shielded +from all danger.</p> + +<p>Orne began to show minute but +steady signs of improvement. In another +month, the doctors ventured an +intestinal graft that gave him a new +spurt of energy. Two months later, +they replaced missing eye and fingers, +restored his scalp line, worked +artistic surgery on his burn scars.</p> + +<p>Fourteen months, eleven days, five +<span class="pagenum"><a id="p096">p. 96</a></span> +hours and two minutes after he had +been picked up "as good as dead," +Orne walked out of the hospital under +his own power, accompanied by +a strangely silent Umbo Stetson.</p> + +<p>Under the dark blue I-A field +cape, Orne's coverall uniform fitted +his once muscular frame like a deflated +bag. But the pixie light had returned +to his eyes—even to the eye +he had received from a nameless and +long dead donor. Except for the loss +of weight, he looked to be the same +Lewis Orne. If he was different—beyond +the "spare parts"—it was something +he only suspected, something +that made the idea, "twice-born," not +a joke.</p> + +<hr> + +<p>Outside the hospital, clouds obscured +Marak's green sun. It was +midmorning. A cold spring wind +bent the pile lawn, tugged fitfully at +the border plantings of exotic flowers +around the hospital's landing pad.</p> + +<p>Orne paused on the steps above +the pad, breathed deeply of the chill +air. "Beautiful day," he said.</p> + +<p>Stetson reached out a hand to help +Orne down the steps, hesitated, put +the hand back in his pocket. Beneath +the section chief's look of weary superciliousness +there was a note of +anxiety. His big features were set in +a frown. The drooping eyelids failed +to conceal a sharp, measuring stare.</p> + +<p>Orne glanced at the sky to the +southwest. "The flitter ought to be +here any minute." A gust of wind +tugged at his cape. He staggered, +caught his balance. "I <i>feel</i> good."</p> + +<p>"You look like something left +over from a funeral," growled Stetson.</p> + +<p>"Sure—my funeral," said Orne. +He grinned. "Anyway, I was getting +tired of that walk-around-type +morgue. All my nurses were married."</p> + +<p>"I'd almost stake my life that I +could trust you," muttered Stetson.</p> + +<p>Orne looked at him. "No, no, +Stet ... stake <i>my</i> life. I'm used to +it."</p> + +<p>Stetson shook his head. "No, dammit! +I trust you, but you deserve a +peaceful convalescence. We've no +right to saddle you with—"</p> + +<p>"Stet?" Orne's voice was low, +amused.</p> + +<p>"Huh?" Stetson looked up.</p> + +<p>"Let's save the noble act for someone +who doesn't know you," said +Orne. "You've a job for me. O.K. +You've made the gesture for your +conscience."</p> + +<p>Stetson produced a wolfish grin. +"All right. So we're desperate, and +we haven't much time. In a nutshell, +since you're going to be a house guest +at the Bullones'—we suspect Ipscott +Bullone of being the head of a conspiracy +to take over the government."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean—<i>take over +the government</i>?" demanded Orne. +"The Galactic High Commissioner <i>is</i> +the government—subject to the Constitution +and the Assemblymen who +elected him."</p> + +<p>"We've a situation that could explode +into another Rim War, and we +think he's at the heart of it," said +Stetson. "We've eighty-one touchy +<span class="pagenum"><a id="p097">p. 97</a></span> +planets, all of them old-line steadies +that have been in the League for +years. And on every one of them we +have reason to believe there's a clan +of traitors sworn to overthrow the +League. Even on your home planet—Chargon."</p> + +<p>"You want me to go home for +my convalescence?" asked Orne. +"Haven't been there since I was seventeen. +I'm not sure that—"</p> + +<p>"No, dammit! We want you as the +Bullones' house guest! And speaking +of that, would you mind explaining +how they were chosen to ride herd +on you?"</p> + +<p>"There's an odd thing," said +Orne. "All those gags in the I-A +about old Upshook Ipscott Bullone +... and then I find that his wife +went to school with my mother."</p> + +<p>"Have you met Himself?"</p> + +<p>"He brought his wife to the hospital +a couple of times."</p> + +<p>Again, Stetson looked to the southwest, +then back to Orne. A pensive +look came over his face. "Every +schoolkid knows how the Nathians +and the Marakian League fought it +out in the Rim War—how the old +civilization fell apart—and it all +seems kind of distant," he said.</p> + +<p>"Five hundred standard years," +said Orne.</p> + +<p>"And maybe no farther away than +yesterday," murmured Stetson. He +cleared his throat.</p> + +<hr> + +<p>And Orne wondered why Stetson +was moving so cautiously. <i>Something +deep troubling him.</i> A sudden +thought struck Orne. He said: "You +spoke of trust. Has this conspiracy +involved the I-A?"</p> + +<p>"We think so," said Stetson. +"About a year ago, an R&R archeological +team was nosing around some +ruins on Dabih. The place was all +but vitrified in the Rim War, but a +whole bank of records from a Nathian +outpost escaped." He glanced +sidelong at Orne. "The Rah&Rah +boys couldn't make sense out of the +records. No surprise. They called in +an I-A crypt-analyst. He broke a +complicated substitution cipher. +When the stuff started making sense +he pushed the panic button."</p> + +<p>"For something the Nathians +wrote five hundred years ago?"</p> + +<p>Stetson's drooping eyelids lifted. +There was a cold quality to his stare. +"This was a routing station for key +Nathian families," he said. "Trained +refugees. An old dodge ... been +used as long as there've been—"</p> + +<p>"But five hundred <i>years</i>, Stet!"</p> + +<p>"I don't care if it was five <i>thousand</i> +years!" barked Stetson. "We've +intercepted some scraps since then +that were written in the <i>same</i> code. +The bland confidence of <i>that</i>! +Wouldn't that gall you?" He shook +his head. "And every scrap we've intercepted +deals with the coming elections."</p> + +<p>"But the election's only a couple +of days off!" protested Orne.</p> + +<p>Stetson glanced at his wristchrono. +"Forty-two hours to be exact," he +said. "Some deadline!"</p> + +<p>"Any names in these old records?" +asked Orne.</p> + +<p>Stetson nodded. "Names of planets, +<span class="pagenum"><a id="p098">p. 98</a></span> +yes. People, no. Some code +names, but no cover names. Code +name on Chargon was <i>Winner</i>. That +ring any bells with you?"</p> + +<p>Orne shook his head. "No. What's +the code name here?"</p> + +<p><i>"The Head,"</i> said Stetson. "But +what good does that do us? They're +sure to've changed those by now."</p> + +<p>"They didn't change their communications +code," said Orne.</p> + +<p>"No ... they didn't."</p> + +<p>"We must have something on +them, some leads," said Orne. He +felt that Stetson was holding back +something vital.</p> + +<p>"Sure," said Stetson. "We have +history books. They say the Nathians +were top drawer in political mechanics. +We know for a fact they chose +landing sites for their <i>refugees</i> with +diabolical care. Each family was told +to dig in, grow up with the adopted +culture, develop the weak spots, build +an underground, train their descendants +to take over. They set out to +bore from within, to make victory +out of defeat. The Nathians were +long on patience. They came originally +from nomad stock on Nathia +II. Their mythology calls them Arbs +or Ayrbs. Go review your seventh +grade history. You'll know almost as +much as we do!"</p> + +<p>"Like looking for the traditional +needle in the haystack," muttered +Orne. "How come you suspect High +Commissioner Upshook?"</p> + +<p>Stetson wet his lips with his +tongue. "One of the Bullones' seven +daughters is currently at home," he +said. "Name's Diana. A field leader +in the I-A women. One of the Nathian +code messages we intercepted had +her name as addressee."</p> + +<p>"Who sent the message?" asked +Orne. "What was it all about?"</p> + +<p>Stetson coughed. "You know, +Lew, we cross-check everything. This +message was signed M.O.S. The only +M.O.S. that came out of the comparison +was on a routine next-of-kin reply. +We followed it down to the +original copy, and the handwriting +checked. Name of Madrena Orne +Standish."</p> + +<p>"Maddie?" Orne froze, turned +slowly to face Stetson. "So that's +what's troubling you!"</p> + +<p>"We know you haven't been home +since you were seventeen," said Stetson. +"Your record with us is clean. +The question is—"</p> + +<p>"Permit me," said Orne. "The +question is: Will I turn in my own +sister if it falls that way?"</p> + +<p>Stetson remained silent, staring at +him.</p> + +<p>"O.K.," said Orne. "My job is +seeing that we don't have another +Rim War. Just answer me one question: +How's Maddie mixed up in +this? My family isn't one of these +traitor clans."</p> + +<p>"This whole thing is all tangled +up with politics," said Stetson. "We +think it's because of her husband."</p> + +<p>"Ahhhh, the member for Chargon," +said Orne. "I've never met +him." He looked to the southwest +where a flitter was growing larger as +it approached. "Who's my cover contact?"</p> + +<p>"That mini-transceiver we planted +<span class="pagenum"><a id="p099">p. 99</a></span> +in your neck for the Gienah job," +said Stetson. "It's still there and +functioning. Anything happens +around you, we hear it."</p> + +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/99.png"><img src="images/99_thumb2.png" alt="An illustration" title="An illustration" width="276" height="800"></a></p> + +<p>Orne touched the subvocal stud at +his neck, moved his speaking muscles +without opening his mouth. A surf-hissing +voice filled the matching +transceiver in Stetson's neck:</p> + +<p><i>"You pay attention while I'm making +a play for this Diana Bullone, +you hear? Then you'll know how an +expert works."</i></p> + +<p>"Don't get so interested in your +work that you forget why you're out +there," growled Stetson.</p> + +<hr> + +<p>Mrs. Bullone was a fat little mouse +of a woman. She stood almost in the +center of the guest room of her +home, hands clasped across the +paunch of a long, dull silver gown. +She had demure gray eyes, grandmotherly +gray hair combed straight +back in a jeweled net—and that +shocking baritone husk of a voice +issuing from a small mouth. Her figure +sloped out from several chins to +a matronly bosom, then dropped +straight like a barrel. The top of her +head came just above Orne's dress +epaulets.</p> + +<p>"We want you to feel at home +here, Lewis," she husked. "You're to +consider yourself one of the family."</p> + +<p>Orne looked around at the Bullone +guest room: low key furnishings with +an old-fashioned selectacol for +change of decor. A polawindow +looked out onto an oval swimming +pool, the glass muted to dark blue. +It gave the outside a moonlight appearance. +<span class="pagenum"><a id="p100">p. 100</a></span> +There was a contour bed +against one wall, several built-ins, +and a door partly open to reveal +bathroom tiles. Everything traditional +and comfortable.</p> + +<p>"I already <i>do</i> feel at home," he +said. "You know, your house is very +like our place on Chargon. I was surprised +when I saw it from the air. +Except for the setting, it looks almost +identical."</p> + +<p>"I guess your mother and I shared +ideas when we were in school," said +Polly. "We were <i>very</i> close friends."</p> + +<p>"You must've been to do all this +for me," said Orne. "I don't know +how I'm ever going to—"</p> + +<p>"Ah! Here we are!" A deep masculine +voice boomed from the open +door behind Orne. He turned, saw +Ipscott Bullone, High Commissioner +of the Marakian League. Bullone was +tall, had a face of harsh angles and +deep lines, dark eyes under heavy +brows, black hair trained in receding +waves. There was a look of ungainly +clumsiness about him.</p> + +<p><i>He doesn't strike me as the dictator +type</i>, thought Orne. <i>But that's obviously +what Stet suspects.</i></p> + +<p>"Glad you made it out all right, +son," boomed Bullone. He advanced +into the room, glanced around. +"Hope everything's to your taste +here."</p> + +<p>"Lewis was just telling me that our +place is very like his mother's home +on Chargon," said Polly.</p> + +<p>"It's old fashioned, but we like it," +said Bullone. "Just a great big tetragon +on a central pivot. We can turn +any room we want to the sun, the +shade or the breeze, but we usually +leave the main salon pointing northeast. +View of the capital, you +know."</p> + +<p>"We have a sea breeze on Chargon +that we treat the same way," said +Orne.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure Lewis would like to be +left alone for a while now," said +Polly. "This is his first day out of the +hospital. We mustn't tire him." She +crossed to the polawindow, adjusted +it to neutral gray, turned the selectacol, +and the room's color dominance +shifted to green. "There, that's more +restful," she said. "Now, if there's +anything you need you just ring the +bell there by your bed. The autobutle +will know where to find us."</p> + +<p>The Bullones left, and Orne crossed +to the window, looked out at the +pool. The young woman hadn't come +back. When the chauffeur-driven limousine +flitter had dropped down to +the house's landing pad, Orne had +seen a parasol and sunhat nodding +to each other on the blue tiles beside +the pool. The parasol had +shielded Polly Bullone. The sunhat +had been worn by a shapely young +woman in swimming tights, who had +rushed off into the house.</p> + +<p>She was no taller than Polly, but +slender and with golden red hair +caught under the sunhat in a swimmer's +chignon. She was not beautiful—face +too narrow with suggestions +of Bullone's cragginess, and the eyes +overlarge. But her mouth was full-lipped, +chin strong, and there had +been an air of exquisite assurance +about her. The total effect had been +<span class="pagenum"><a id="p101">p. 101</a></span> +one of striking elegance—extremely +feminine.</p> + +<p>Orne looked beyond the pool: +wooded hills and, dimly on the horizon, +a broken line of mountains. The +Bullones lived in expensive isolation. +Around them stretched miles of wilderness, +rugged with planned neglect.</p> + +<p><i>Time to report in</i>, he thought. +Orne pressed the neck stud on his +transceiver, got Stetson, told him +what had happened to this point.</p> + +<p>"All right," said Stetson. "Go find +the daughter. She fits the description +of the gal you saw by the pool."</p> + +<p>"That's what I was hoping," said +Orne.</p> + +<p>He changed into light-blue fatigues, +went to the door of his room, +let himself out into a hall. A glance +at his wristchrono showed that it was +shortly before noon—time for a bit +of scouting before they called lunch. +He knew from his brief tour of the +house and its similarity to the home +of his childhood that the hall let into +the main living salon. The public +rooms and men's quarters were in +the outside ring. Secluded family +apartments and women's quarters occupied +the inner section.</p> + +<hr> + +<p>Orne made his way to the salon. +It was long, built around two sections +of the tetragon, and with low +divans beneath the view windows. +The floor was thick pile rugs pushed +one against another in a crazy patchwork +of reds and browns. At the far +end of the room, someone in blue fatigues +like his own was bent over a +stand of some sort. The figure +straightened at the same time a tinkle +of music filled the room. He recognized +the red-gold hair of the young +woman he had seen beside the pool. +She was wielding two mallets to play +a stringed instrument that lay on its +side supported by a carved-wood +stand.</p> + +<p>He moved up behind her, his footsteps +muffled by the carpeting. The +music had a curious rhythm that suggested +figures dancing wildly around +firelight. She struck a final chord, +muted the strings.</p> + +<p>"That makes me homesick," said +Orne.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" She whirled, gasped, then +smiled. "You startled me. I thought +I was alone."</p> + +<p>"Sorry. I was enjoying the music."</p> + +<p>"I'm Diana Bullone," she said. +"You're Mr. Orne."</p> + +<p>"Lew to all of the Bullone family, +I hope," he said.</p> + +<p>"Of course ... Lew." She gestured +at the musical instrument. "This is +very old. Most find its music ... +well, rather weird. It's been handed +down for generations in mother's +family."</p> + +<p>"The kaithra," said Orne. "My +sisters play it. Been a long time since +I've heard one."</p> + +<p>"Oh, of course," she said. "Your +mother's—" She stopped, looked +confused. "I've got to get used to the +fact that you're.... I mean that we +have a strange man around the house +who isn't <i>exactly</i> strange."</p> + +<p>Orne grinned. In spite of the blue +I-A fatigues and a rather severe +<span class="pagenum"><a id="p102">p. 102</a></span> +pulled-back hairdo, this was a handsome +woman. He found himself liking +her, and this caused him a feeling +near self-loathing. She was a suspect. +He couldn't afford to like her. +But the Bullones were being so decent, +taking him in like this. And +how was their hospitality being repaid? +By spying and prying. Yet, his +first loyalty belonged to the I-A, to +the peace it represented.</p> + +<p>He said rather lamely: "I hope +you get over the feeling that I'm +strange."</p> + +<p>"I'm over it already," she said. She +linked arms with him, said: "If you +feel up to it, I'll take you on the +deluxe guided tour."</p> + +<p>By nightfall, Orne was in a state +of confusion. He had found Diana +fascinating, and yet the most comfortable +woman to be around that he +had ever met. She liked swimming, +<i>paloika</i> hunting, <i>ditar</i> apples— She +had a "poo-poo" attitude toward the +older generation that she said she'd +never before revealed to anyone. +They had laughed like fools over +utter nonsense.</p> + +<p>Orne went back to his room to +change for dinner, stopped before +the polawindow. The quick darkness +of these low latitudes had pulled an +ebon blanket over the landscape. +There was city-glow off to the left, +and an orange halo to the peaks +where Marak's three moons would +rise. <i>Am I falling in love with this +woman?</i> he asked himself. He felt +like calling Stetson, not to report but +just to talk the situation out. And +this made him acutely aware that +Stetson or an aide had heard everything +said between them that afternoon.</p> + +<hr> + +<p>The autobutle called dinner. Orne +changed hurriedly into a fresh lounge +uniform, found his way to the small +salon across the house. The Bullones +already were seated around an old-fashioned +bubble-slot table set with +real candles, golden <i>shardi</i> service. +Two of Marak's moons could be seen +out the window climbing swiftly +over the peaks.</p> + +<p>"You turned the house," said +Orne.</p> + +<p>"We like the moonrise," said +Polly. "It seems more romantic, +don't you think?" She glanced at +Diana.</p> + +<p>Diana looked down at her plate. +She was wearing a low-cut gown of +<i>firemesh</i> that set off her red hair. A +single strand of <i>Reinach</i> pearls +gleamed at her throat.</p> + +<p>Orne sat down in the vacant seat +opposite her. <i>What a handsome +woman!</i> he thought.</p> + +<p>Polly, on Orne's right, looked +younger and softer in a green stola +gown that hazed her barrel contours. +Bullone, across from her, wore black +lounging shorts and knee-length <i>kubi</i> +jacket of golden pearl cloth. Everything +about the people and setting +reeked of wealth, power. For a moment, +Orne saw that Stetson's suspicions +could have basis in fact. Bullone +might go to any lengths to maintain +this luxury.</p> + +<p>Orne's entrance had interrupted +an argument between Polly and her +<span class="pagenum"><a id="p103">p. 103</a></span> +husband. They welcomed him, went +right on without inhibition. Rather +than embarrassing him, this made +him feel more at home, more accepted.</p> + +<p style="text-align: center"><a href="images/103.png"><img src="images/103_thumb.png" alt="An illustration" title="An illustration" width="600" height="444"></a></p> + +<p>"But I'm not running for office +this time," said Bullone patiently. +"Why do we have to clutter up the +evening with that many people just +to—"</p> + +<p>"Our election night parties are +traditional," said Polly.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'd just like to relax quietly +at home tomorrow," he said. +"Take it easy with just the family +here and not have to—"</p> + +<p>"It's not like it was a <i>big</i> party," +said Polly. "I've kept the list to +fifty."</p> + +<p>Diana straightened, said: "This is +an important election Daddy! How +could you <i>possibly</i> relax? There're +seventy-three seats in question ... +the whole balance. If things go +wrong in just the Alkes sector ... +why ... you could be sent back to +the floor. You'd lose your job as ... +why ... someone else could take over +as—"</p> + +<p>"Welcome to the job," said Bullone. +"It's a headache." He grinned +at Orne. "Sorry to burden you with +this, m'boy, but the women of this +family run me ragged. I guess from +what I hear that you've had a pretty +busy day, too." He smiled paternally +at Diana. "And your first day out of +the hospital."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="p104">p. 104</a></span></p> + +<p>"She sets quite a pace, but I've +enjoyed it," said Orne.</p> + +<p>"We're taking the small flitter for +a tour of the wilderness area tomorrow," +said Diana. "Lew can relax +all the way. I'll do the driving."</p> + +<p>"Be sure you're back in plenty of +time for the party," said Polly. +"Can't have—" She broke off at a +low bell from the alcove behind her. +"That'll be for me. Excuse me, please +... no, don't get up."</p> + +<hr> + +<p>Orne bent to his dinner as it came +out of the bubble slot beside his +plate: meat in an exotic sauce, <i>Sirik</i> +champagne, <i>paloika au semil</i> ... +more luxury.</p> + +<p>Presently, Polly returned, resumed +her seat.</p> + +<p>"Anything important?" asked Bullone.</p> + +<p>"Only a cancellation for tomorrow +night. Professor Wingard is ill."</p> + +<p>"I'd just as soon it was cancelled +down to the four of us," said Bullone.</p> + +<p><i>Unless this is a pose, this doesn't +sound like a man who wants to grab +more power</i>, thought Orne.</p> + +<p>"Scottie, you should take more +pride in your office!" snapped Polly. +"You're an important man."</p> + +<p>"If it weren't for you, I'd be a +nobody and prefer it," said Bullone. +He grinned at Orne. "I'm a political +idiot compared to my wife. Never +saw anyone who could call the turn +like she does. Runs in her family. +Her mother was the same way."</p> + +<p>Orne stared at him, fork raised +from plate and motionless. A sudden +idea had exploded in his mind.</p> + +<p>"You must know something of +this life, Lewis," said Bullone. "Your +father was member for Chargon +once, wasn't he?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," murmured Orne. "But that +was before I was born. He died in +office." He shook his head, thought: +<i>It couldn't be ... but—</i></p> + +<p>"Do you feel all right, Lew?" asked +Diana. "You're suddenly so pale."</p> + +<p>"Just tired," said Orne. "Guess +I'm not used to so much activity."</p> + +<p>"And I've been a beast keeping +you so busy today," she said.</p> + +<p>"Don't you stand on ceremony +here, son," said Polly. She looked +concerned. "You've been very sick, +and we understand. If you're tired, +you go right on into bed."</p> + +<p>Orne glanced around the table, +met anxious attention in each face. +He pushed his chair back, said: +"Well, if you really don't mind—"</p> + +<p>"Mind!" barked Polly. "You scoot +along now!"</p> + +<p>"See you in the morning. Lew," +said Diana.</p> + +<p>He nodded, turned away, thinking: +<i>What a handsome woman!</i> As +he started down the hall, he heard +Bullone say to Diana: "Di, perhaps +you'd better not take that boy out tomorrow. +After all, he <i>is</i> supposed to +be here for a rest." Her answer was +lost as Orne entered the hall, closed +the door.</p> + +<p>In the privacy of his room, Orne +pressed the transceiver stud at his +neck, said: <i>"Stet?"</i></p> + +<p>A voice hissed in his ears: <i>"This is</i> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="p105">p. 105</a></span> +<i>Mr. Stetson's relief. Orne, isn't it?"</i></p> + +<p><i>"Yes. I want a check right away +on those Nathian records the archaeologists +found. Find out if Heleb was +one of the planets they seeded."</i></p> + +<p><i>"Right. Hang on."</i> There was a +long silence, then: <i>"Lew, this is Stet. +How come the question about Heleb?"</i></p> + +<p><i>"Was it on that Nathian list?"</i></p> + +<p><i>"Negative. Why'd you ask?"</i></p> + +<p><i>"Are you sure, Stet? It'd explain +a lot of things."</i></p> + +<p><i>"It's not on the lists, but ... wait +a minute."</i> Silence. Then: <i>"Heleb +was on line of flight to Auriga, and +Auriga was on the list. We've reason +to doubt they put anyone down on +Auriga. If their ship ran into trouble—"</i></p> + +<p><i>"That's it!"</i> snapped Orne.</p> + +<p><i>"Keep your voice down or talk +subvocally."</i> ordered Stetson. <i>"Now, +answer my question: What's up?"</i></p> + +<p><i>"Something so fantastic it frightens +me,"</i> said Orne. <i>"Remember that +the women who ruled Heleb bred female +or male children by controlling +the sex of their offspring at conception. +The method was unique. In +fact, our medics thought it was impossible +until—"</i></p> + +<p><i>"You don't have to remind me of +something we want buried and forgotten,"</i> +interrupted Stetson. <i>"Too +much chance for misuse of that +formula."</i></p> + +<p><i>"Yes,"</i> said Orne. <i>"But what if +your Nathian underground is composed +entirely of women bred the +same way? What if the Heleb women +were just a bunch who got out of +hand because they'd lost contact with +the main element?"</i></p> + +<p><i>"Holy Moley!"</i> blurted Stetson. +<i>"Do you have evidence—"</i></p> + +<p><i>"Nothing but a hunch,"</i> said Orne. +<i>"Do you have a list of the guests +who'll be here for the election party +tomorrow?"</i></p> + +<p><i>"We can get it. Why?"</i></p> + +<p><i>"Check for women who mastermind +their husbands in politics. Let +me know how many and who."</i></p> + +<p><i>"Lew, that's not enough to—"</i></p> + +<p><i>"That's all I can give you for now, +but I think I'll have more. Remember +that ..."</i> he hesitated, spacing his +words as a new thought struck him +<i>"... the ... Nathians ... were ... +nomads."</i></p> + +<hr> + +<p>Day began early for the Bullones. +In spite of its being election day, +Bullone took off for his office an +hour after dawn. "See what I mean +about this job owning you?" he asked +Orne.</p> + +<p>"We're going to take it easy today, +Lew," said Diana. She took his +hand as they came up the steps after +seeing her father to his limousine +flitter. The sky was cloudless.</p> + +<p>Orne felt himself liking her hand +in his—liking the feel of it too +much. He withdrew his hand, stood +aside, said: "Lead on."</p> + +<p><i>I've got to watch myself</i>, he +thought. <i>She's too charming.</i></p> + +<p>"I think a picnic," said Diana. +"There's a little lake with grassy +banks off to the west. We'll take +viewers and a couple of good novels. +This'll be a do-nothing day."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="p106">p. 106</a></span></p> + +<p>Orne hesitated. There might be +things going on at the house that he +should watch. But no ... if he was +right about this situation, then Diana +could be the weak link. Time was +closing in on them, too. By tomorrow +the Nathians could have the government +completely under control.</p> + +<p>It was warm beside the lake. There +were purple and orange flowers +above the grassy bank. Small creatures +flitted and cheeped in the brush and +trees. There was a <i>groomis</i> in the +reeds at the lower end of the lake, +and every now and then it honked +like an old man clearing his throat.</p> + +<p>"When we girls were all at home +we used to picnic here every Eight-day," +said Diana. She lay on her back +on the groundmat they'd spread. +Orne sat beside her facing the lake. +"We made a raft over there on the +other side," she said. She sat up, +looked across the lake. "You know, +I think pieces of it are still there. +See?" She pointed at a jumble of +logs. As she gestured, her hand +brushed Orne's.</p> + +<p>Something like an electric shock +passed between them. Without knowing +exactly how it happened, Orne +found his arms around Diana, their +lips pressed together in a lingering +kiss. Panic was very close to the surface +in Orne. He broke away.</p> + +<p>"I didn't plan for that to happen," +whispered Diana.</p> + +<p>"Nor I," muttered Orne. He +shook his head. "Sometimes things +can get into an awful mess!"</p> + +<p>Diana blinked. "Lew ... don't +you ... like me?"</p> + +<p>He ignored the monitoring transceiver, +spoke his mind. <i>They'll just +think it's part of the act</i>, he +thought. And the thought was bitter.</p> + +<p>"Like you?" he asked. "I think +I'm in love with you!"</p> + +<p>She sighed, leaned against his +shoulder. "Then what's wrong? +You're not already married. Mother +had your service record checked." +Diana smiled impishly. "Mother has +second sight."</p> + +<hr> + +<p>The bitterness was like a sour +taste in Orne's mouth. He could see +the pattern so clearly. "Di, I ran +away from home when I was seventeen," +he said.</p> + +<p>"I know, darling. Mother's told +me all about you."</p> + +<p>"You don't understand," he said. +"My father died before I was born. +He—"</p> + +<p>"It must've been very hard on your +mother," she said. "Left all alone +with her family ... and a new baby +on the way."</p> + +<p>"They'd known for a long time," +said Orne. "My father had <i>Broach's</i> +disease, and they found out too late. +It was already in the central nervous +system."</p> + +<p>"How horrible," whispered Diana.</p> + +<p>Orne's mind felt suddenly like a +fish out of water. He found himself +grasping at a thought that flopped +around just out of reach. "Dad was +in politics," he whispered. He felt +as though he were living in a dream. +His voice stayed low, shocked. +"From when I first began to talk, +<span class="pagenum"><a id="p107">p. 107</a></span> +Mother started grooming me to take +his place in public life."</p> + +<p>"And you didn't like politics," +said Diana.</p> + +<p>"I hated it!" he growled. "First +chance, I ran away. One of my sisters +married a young fellow who's +now the member for Chargon. I hope +he enjoys it!"</p> + +<p>"That'd be Maddie," said Diana.</p> + +<p>"You know her?" asked Orne. +Then he remembered what Stetson +had told him, and the thought was +chilling.</p> + +<p>"Of course I know her," said +Diana. "Lew, what's wrong with +you?"</p> + +<p>"You'd expect me to play the same +game, you calling the shots," he said. +"Shoot for the top, cut and scramble, +claw and dig."</p> + +<p>"By tomorrow all that may not be +necessary," she said.</p> + +<p>Orne heard the sudden hiss of the +carrier wave in his neck transceiver, +but there was no voice from the +monitor.</p> + +<p>"What's ... happening ... tomorrow?" +he asked.</p> + +<p>"The election, silly," she said. +"Lew, you're acting very strangely. +Are you sure you're feeling all +right." She put a hand to his forehead. +"Perhaps we'd—"</p> + +<p>"Just a minute," said Orne. +"About us—" He swallowed.</p> + +<p>She withdrew her hand. "I think +my parents already suspect. We Bullones +are notorious love-at-first-sighters." +Her overlarge eyes studied him +fondly. "You don't feel feverish, but +maybe we'd better—"</p> + +<p>"What a dope I am!" snarled +Orne. "I just realized that I have to +be a Nathian, too."</p> + +<p>"You <i>just</i> realized?" She stared at +him.</p> + +<p>There was a hissing gasp in Orne's +transceiver.</p> + +<p>"The identical patterns in our +families," he said. "Even to the +houses. And there's the real key. +What a dope!" He snapped his fingers. +"<i>The head!</i> Polly! Your mother's +the grand boss woman, isn't +she?"</p> + +<p>"But, darling ... of course. +She—"</p> + +<p>"You'd better take me to her and +fast!" snapped Orne. He touched the +stud at his neck, but Stetson's voice +intruded.</p> + +<p><i>"Great work, Lew! We're moving +in a special shock force. Can't take +any chances with—"</i></p> + +<p>Orne spoke aloud in panic: <i>"Stet! +You get out to the Bullones! And you +get there alone! No troops!"</i></p> + +<p>Diana had jumped to her feet, +backed away from him.</p> + +<p><i>"What do you mean?"</i> demanded +Stetson.</p> + +<p><i>"I'm saving our stupid necks!"</i> +barked Orne. <i>"Alone! You hear? Or +we'll have a worse mess on our hands +than any Rim War!"</i></p> + +<p>There was an extended silence. +<i>"You hear me, Stet?"</i> demanded +Orne.</p> + +<p><i>"O.K., Lew. We're putting the +O-force on standby. I'll be at the +Bullones' in ten minutes. ComGO +will be with me."</i> Pause. <i>"And you'd +better know what you're doing!"</i></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="p108">p. 108</a></span></p> + +<p>It was an angry group in a corner +of the Bullones' main salon. Louvered +shades cut the green glare of a +noon sun. In the background there +was the hum of air-conditioning and +the clatter of roboservants preparing +for the night's election party. Stetson +leaned against the wall beside a +divan, hands jammed deeply into the +pockets of his wrinkled, patched +fatigues. The wagon tracks furrowed +his high forehead. Near Stetson, Admiral +Sobat Spencer, the I-A's Commander +of Galactic Operations, +paced the floor. ComGO was a bull-necked +bald man with wide blue +eyes, a deceptively mild voice. There +was a caged animal look to his pacing—three +steps out, three steps back.</p> + +<p>Polly Bullone sat on the divan. +Her mouth was pulled into a straight +line. Her hands were clasped so +tightly in her lap that the knuckles +showed white. Diana stood beside +her mother. Her fists were clenched +at her sides. She shivered with fury. +Her gaze remained fixed, glaring at +Orne.</p> + +<p>"O.K., so my stupidity set up this +little meeting," snarled Orne. He +stood about five paces in front of +Polly, hands on hips. The admiral, +pacing away at his right, was beginning +to wear on his nerves. "But +you'd better listen to what I have to +say." He glanced at the ComGO. +"<i>All</i> of you."</p> + +<p>Admiral Spencer stopped pacing, +glowered at Orne. "I have yet to hear +a good reason for not tearing this +place apart ... getting to the bottom +of this situation."</p> + +<p>"You ... traitor, Lewis!" husked +Polly.</p> + +<p>"I'm inclined to agree with you, +Madame," said Spencer. "Only from +a different point of view." He +glanced at Stetson. "Any word yet +on Scottie Bullone?"</p> + +<p>"They were going to call me the +minute they found him," said Stetson. +His voice sounded cautious, +brooding.</p> + +<p>"You were coming to the party +here tonight, weren't you, admiral?" +asked Orne.</p> + +<p>"What's that have to do with anything?" +demanded Spencer.</p> + +<p>"Are you prepared to jail your +wife and daughters for conspiracy?" +asked Orne.</p> + +<p>A tight smile played around +Polly's lips.</p> + +<p>Spencer opened his mouth, closed +it soundlessly.</p> + +<p>"The Nathians are mostly women," +said Orne. "There's evidence +that your womenfolk are among +them."</p> + +<p>The admiral looked like a man +who had been kicked in the stomach. +"What ... evidence?" he whispered.</p> + +<p>"I'll come to that in a moment," +said Orne. "Now, note this: the +Nathians are mostly women. There +were only a few <i>accidents</i> and a few +planned males, like me. That's why +there were no family names to trace—just +a tight little female society, all +working to positions of power +through their men."</p> + +<p>Spencer cleared his throat, swallowed. +He seemed powerless to take +his attention from Orne's mouth.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="p109">p. 109</a></span></p> + +<p>"My guess," said Orne, "is that +about thirty or forty years ago, the +conspirators first began breeding a +few males, grooming them for really +choice top positions. Other Nathian +males—the accidents where sex-control +failed—they never learned about +the conspiracy. These new ones were +full-fledged members. That's what +I'd have been if I'd panned out as +expected."</p> + +<p>Polly glared at him, looked back +at her hands.</p> + +<p>"That part of the plan was scheduled +to come to a head with this +election," said Orne. "If they pulled +this one off, they could move in more +boldly."</p> + +<p>"You're in way over your head, +boy," growled Polly. "You're too +late to do anything about us!"</p> + +<p>"We'll see about that!" barked +Spencer. He seemed to have regained +his self-control. "A little publicity +in the right places ... some key arrests +and—"</p> + +<p>"No," said Orne. "She's right. It's +too late for that. It was probably too +late a hundred years ago. These +dames were too firmly entrenched +even then."</p> + +<hr> + +<p>Stetson straightened away from the +wall, smiled grimly at Orne. He +seemed to be understanding a point +that the others were missing. Diana +still glared at Orne. Polly kept her +attention on her hands, the tight +smile playing about her lips.</p> + +<p>"These women probably control +one out of three of the top positions +in the League," said Orne. "Maybe +more. Think, admiral ... think what +would happen if you exposed this +thing. There'd be secessions, riots, +sub-governments would topple, the +central government would be torn by +suspicions and battles. What breeds +in that atmosphere?" He shook his +head. "The Rim War would seem +like a picnic!"</p> + +<p>"We can't just ignore this!" barked +Spencer. He stiffened, glared at +Orne.</p> + +<p>"We can and we will," said Orne. +"No choice."</p> + +<p>Polly looked up, studied Orne's +face. Diana looked confused.</p> + +<p>"Once a Nathian, always a Nathian, +eh?" snarled Spencer.</p> + +<p>"There's no such thing," said +Orne. "Five hundred years' cross-breeding +with other races saw to that. +There's merely a secret society of +astute political scientists." He smiled +wryly at Polly, glanced back at +Spencer. "Think of your own wife, +sir. In all honesty, would you be +ComGO today if she hadn't guided +your career?"</p> + +<p>Spencer's face darkened. He drew +in his chin, tried to stare Orne down, +failed. Presently, he chuckled wryly.</p> + +<p>"Sobie is beginning to come to his +senses," said Polly. "You're about +through, son."</p> + +<p>"Don't underestimate your future +son-in-law," said Orne.</p> + +<p>"Hah!" barked Diana. "I <i>hate</i> +you, Lewis Orne!"</p> + +<p>"You'll get over that," said Orne +mildly.</p> + +<p>"Ohhhhhh!" Diana quivered with +fury.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="p110">p. 110</a></span></p> + +<p>"My major point is this," said +Orne. "Government is a dubious +glory. You pay for your power and +wealth by balancing on the sharp +edge of the blade. That great amorphous +thing out there—the people—has +turned and swallowed many governments. +The only way you can stay +in power is by giving <i>good</i> government. +Otherwise—sooner on later—your +turn comes. I can remember my +mother making that point. It's one +of the things that stuck with me." +He frowned. "My objection to politics +is the compromises you have to +make to get elected!"</p> + +<p>Stetson moved out from the wall. +"It's pretty clear," he said. Heads +turned toward him. "To stay in power, +the Nathians had to give us a +fairly good government. On the other +hand, if we expose them, we give +a bunch of political amateurs—every +fanatic and power-hungry demagogue +in the galaxy—just the weapon they +need to sweep them into office."</p> + +<p>"After that: chaos," said Orne. +"So we let the Nathians continue ... +with two minor alterations."</p> + +<p>"We alter nothing," said Polly. "It +occurs to me, Lewis, that you don't +have a leg to stand on. You have me, +but you'll get nothing out of me. The +rest of the organization can go on +without me. You don't dare expose +us. We hold the whip hand!"</p> + +<hr> + +<p>"The I-A could have ninety per +cent of your organization in custody +inside of ten days," said Orne.</p> + +<p>"You couldn't find them!" snapped +Polly.</p> + +<p>"How?" asked Stetson.</p> + +<p>"Nomads," said Orne. "This +house is a glorified tent. Men on the +outside, women on the inside. Look +for inner courtyard construction. It's +instinctive with Nathian blood. Add +to that, an inclination for odd musical +instruments—the kaithra, the tambour, +the oboe—all nomad instruments. +Add to that, female dominance +of the family—an odd twist +on the nomad heritage, but not completely +unique. Check for predominance +of female offspring. Dig into +political background. We'll miss +damn few!"</p> + +<p>Polly just stared at him, mouth +open.</p> + +<p>Spencer said: "Things are moving +too fast for me. I know just one +thing: I'm dedicated to preventing +another Rim War. If I have to jail +every last one of—"</p> + +<p>"An hour after this conspiracy became +known, you wouldn't be in a +position to jail anyone," said Orne. +"The husband of a Nathian! You'd +be in jail yourself or more likely +dead at the hands of a mob!"</p> + +<p>Spencer paled.</p> + +<p>"What's your suggestion for compromise?" +asked Polly.</p> + +<p>"Number one: the I-A gets veto +power on any candidate you put up," +said Orne. "Number two: you can +never hold more than two thirds of +the top offices."</p> + +<p>"Who in the I-A vetoes our candidates?" +asked Polly.</p> + +<p>"Admiral Spencer, Stet, myself +... anyone else we deem trustworthy," +said Orne.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="p111">p. 111</a></span></p> + +<p>"You think you're a god or something?" +demanded Polly.</p> + +<p>"No more than you do," said +Orne. "This is what's known as a +check and balance system. You cut +the pie. We get first choice on which +pieces to take."</p> + +<p>There was a protracted silence; +then Spencer said: "It doesn't seem +right just to—"</p> + +<p>"No political compromise is ever +totally right," said Polly. "You keep +patching up things that always have +flaws in them. That's how government +is." She chuckled, looked up at +Orne. "All right, Lewis. We accept." +She glanced at Spencer, who shrugged, +nodded glumly. Polly looked +back at Orne. "Just answer me one +question: How'd you know I was +boss lady?"</p> + +<p>"Easy," said Orne. "The records +we found said the ... Nathian (he'd +almost said 'traitor') family on Marak +was coded as <i>'The Head.'</i> Your +name, Polly, contains the ancient +word <i>'Poll'</i> which means <i>head</i>."</p> + +<p>Polly looked at Stetson. "Is he always +that sharp?"</p> + +<p>"Every time," said Stetson.</p> + +<p>"If you want to go into politics, +Lewis," said Polly, "I'd be delighted +to—"</p> + +<p>"I'm already in politics as far as +I want to be," growled Orne. "What +I really want is to settle down with +Di, catch up on some of the living +I've missed."</p> + +<p>Diana stiffened. "I never want to +see, hear <i>from</i> or hear <i>of</i> Mr. Lewis +Orne ever again!" she said. "That is +final, emphatically final!"</p> + +<p>Orne's shoulders drooped. He +turned away, stumbled, and abruptly +collapsed full length on the thick +carpets. There was a collective gasp +behind him.</p> + +<p>Stetson barked: "Call a doctor! +They warned me at the hospital he +was still hanging on a thin +thread!"</p> + +<p>There was the sound of Polly's +heavy footsteps running toward the +hall.</p> + +<p>"Lew!" It was Diana's voice. She +dropped to her knees beside him, +soft hands fumbling at his neck, his +head.</p> + +<p>"Turn him over and loosen his +collar!" snapped Spencer. "Give him +air!"</p> + +<p>Gently, they turned Orne onto his +back. He looked pale, Diana loosed +his collar, buried her face against +his neck. "Oh, Lew, I'm sorry," +she sobbed. "I didn't mean it! +Please, Lew ... please don't die! +Please!"</p> + +<p>Orne opened his eyes, looked up +at Spencer and Stetson. There was +the sound of Polly's voice talking +rapidly on the phone in the hall. He +could feel Diana's cheek warm +against his neck, the dampness of her +tears. Slowly, deliberately, Orne +winked at the two men.</p> + +<p style="text-align: center"><small>THE END</small></p> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 24721 ***</div> +</body> + +</html> + diff --git a/24721-h/images/103.png b/24721-h/images/103.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..1f99155 --- /dev/null +++ b/24721-h/images/103.png diff --git a/24721-h/images/103_thumb.png b/24721-h/images/103_thumb.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f5da0c5 --- /dev/null +++ b/24721-h/images/103_thumb.png diff --git a/24721-h/images/92.png b/24721-h/images/92.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..3f2ce0c --- /dev/null +++ b/24721-h/images/92.png diff --git a/24721-h/images/92_thumb.png b/24721-h/images/92_thumb.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f812a5e --- /dev/null +++ b/24721-h/images/92_thumb.png diff --git a/24721-h/images/99.png b/24721-h/images/99.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..23af1ce --- /dev/null +++ b/24721-h/images/99.png diff --git a/24721-h/images/99_thumb2.png b/24721-h/images/99_thumb2.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5d01688 --- /dev/null +++ b/24721-h/images/99_thumb2.png diff --git a/24721-h/images/w.png b/24721-h/images/w.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..13f0952 --- /dev/null +++ b/24721-h/images/w.png |
